wanted? She suddenly felt a trifle ill.
Henry halted the carriage at the side of the mortuary, where a large mulberry tree grew. April insisted on it, for Grandpa wouldn’t be as likely to see them together here. His eyesight was failing dreadfully.
“I wish—”
“Don’t say it,” she interrupted. “I have to persuade Grandpa that I’m grown-up enough to make my own decisions.” And of course, tell him that she was seeing Henry. Seriously. “He still thinks of me as a little girl.”
Henry’s eyes swept her slender figure. “You’re a lovely young woman now.”
Her cheeks colored. Henry was so bold. So much more exciting than any of the other single men in Dignity.
“He also still thinks of you as that hooligan who tied my sash to the school desk so my skirt would fall down around my ankles when I stood.”
Henry’s grin was irresistibly devilish. “It was one of my better pranks.”
“I was mortified!”
The grin widened. “I know. But your cheeks turned pink and your eyes got so wide with surprise, I was captivated by you from that moment on.” Leaning forward, he stole a kiss.
Henry was a godly man; his youthful pranks seemed uncharacteristic now. Not a foul word escaped his mouth these days except on rare occasions—which she promptly chastised him for. And Henry was always quick to beg her pardon.
She glanced nervously toward the house. “I need to go.” She adored his affectionate gestures, but in private. Not here in public, where someone might catch a glimpse.
Henry settled back with a wry smile. “I’ll see you when I get back from Austin.”
For now she contented herself with the tightening of his hand on hers.
Dignity’s apothecary was midblock between Main and Fallow Streets. The establishment had been there for over twenty years. The sign over the door was faded, the building comfortably weathered.
Inside were shelves of medicinal concoctions, bandages, alcohol for cuts and scrapes, liniment for strained muscles. One corner of the room held potions for farm animals. A long wooden counter stretched along the back, with the pharmacist’s desk behind it, a step or two higher. This was Eldon Ludwig’s throne from early morning to nearly twilight. From it he dispensed medicine and advice for everything from boils to congestion to broken limbs.
At the moment, Eldon’s seat was vacant, and a squarely built figure dressed in a butternut-brown dress stood behind the long counter, explaining the directions on a bottle of headache powders to Judge Petimount’s widow.
April browsed through the store, reading labels on funny-looking bottles while she waited for Beulah to finish with her customer.
Beulah was “Porky” to the town residents—an affectionate nickname she’d been given over the years. April didn’t approve of it, finding it hateful and hurtful. Beulah never complained. She’d smile when someone tossed the name in greeting, but in her large, serious brown eyes April detected pain. She herself would never, ever call her friend the name. Beulah was Beulah. Special—and with a heart the size of Texas.
Mrs. Petimount made her purchase and left.
Wiping her hands on her apron, Beulah grinned at April. “I thought you were busy selling Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound to the enlightened ladies of Dignity and surrounding areas.”
“I’ll have none of your sass, Beulah Ludwig,” April bantered, resting her hands lightly on her hips. “Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound will cure what ails ya.”
Giggling, she came around the corner and grabbed April’s wrists to pull her into a brief hug. “Now tell me, how is the sales job going?”
April settled herself on a worn bench near the counter, and Beulah sat beside her. Beulah had been her friend forever. The daughter of Eldon Ludwig, she spoke with the thick German accent of her parents, who had emigrated to the States before she was born. When the other children had teased her, April had defended her, then taught her to speak with a Texas accent. Instead of “you all” she quickly learned to say “y’all,” which admittedly sounded a little strange with a German inflection.
There was little else April could do to protect her friend from the other children’s cruel barbs. Beulah Ludwig, unfortunately, was the victim of her mother’s good cooking.
In response to April’s friendship, Beulah had appointed herself April’s protector. In grade school, Bud Grady had taken a shine to April, but she hadn’t shared his feelings. Every recess he waited for her by the swings, trying to grab her for a kiss. Once he’d managed to smear his lips across her cheek, and her stomach had rolled.
The day before summer vacation, Bud had apparently sensed that his opportunity to make any headway with April was almost past. He’d waited for her by the water pump and, when she came out, had grabbed her, nearly knocking her to the ground. She’d managed one shrill screech before Bud planted his lips on hers.
Beulah had been waiting for April beneath the big oak in front of the schoolhouse. When she saw Bud pounce, she started running. Before he could get in a second kiss, she’d grabbed him by the collar, whirled him around and tossed him facedown into the dirt.
Turning to April, she’d dusted her hands triumphantly. “There. We’re even.”
The two girls had been inseparable ever since.
Beulah had begun helping her father in the apothecary when she was barely old enough to see over the counter. She’d cleaned the shop at first, then gradually worked her way into sales when she was old enough to make correct change. April, meanwhile, became mistress of her grandfather’s house. She helped at the funeral parlor when needed, making sure the services moved along smoothly, that overwrought family members were comforted, even filling in when a vocalist failed to arrive in time.
April’s slim, delicate frame and light features were a stark contrast to Beulah’s dark features and five-foot, two-hundred-pound frame. Beulah had inherited her father’s stockiness, and April knew it had long ago ceased to concern her. She was happy with her lot, eating cinnamon rolls without apology, while April was still trying to find her purpose in life.
“So, how’s the job?” her friend repeated.
“I wasn’t sure at first how I was going to like it, but I do. I feel I’m doing something important, and I like that.”
“Your grandpa find out what you’re up to yet?”
April shrugged. “No. You know he wouldn’t understand.”
“Your mother was his daughter. He knows she didn’t have to die.”
“I’ll grant you that if men had the same problems as women, there’d be no unnecessary surgeries without some very serious deliberation.”
“Oh, hogwash! You’re getting radical.”
Beulah got up and dusted a shelf of medical supplies as they talked. “I do think you ought to tell your grandpa you’re selling Mrs. Pinkham’s compound. If he finds out what you’re doing—”
